“Mr. Pelham,” she said. “I will not spend another moment in this man’s company. I insist you turn him out.”
“Don’t be a fool,” Pelham said. “You can’t dictate to me with your feminist sensibilities. Be reasonable, please.”
Lilah turned to her friend. “Anne, you agree with me, don’t you? Surely you object to an acquaintance with such a man!”
Anne shook her head. “Delilah, you shouldn’t judge him because of his lineage.”
“You of all people should understand how rotten that family is. Or perhaps you wish to ingratiate yourself with a duke in order to elevate your social status from being the wife of a commoner?”
“That’s enough!” Pelham cried. “Only you could manage to insult three people in a single sentence. If I were your brother, I’d thrash you for such incivility. You’re exhibiting just the sort of behavior that will prevent your family from being accepted in society. If your brother knew what a hellion you are…”
“Och, Pelham, leave the lass be.”
Lilah jabbed a finger at the huge Scot. “I can defend myself,” she said. “I need no help from a rogue.”
His lips curled into a smile. “I’m a rogue, am I? I suppose that’s better than being a savage.”
“You should be taught the error of your ways,” Lilah said.
“Likewise,” he replied, his smile broadening. “As I said when we met, you need to be turned over a man’s knee.”
Swallowing her indignation, Lilah grasped her reticule and almost ran out of the house, his words echoing in her ears.
*
Fraser could hardly suppress his laughter as the red-faced lass exited the parlor. A spitfire, certainly, but she had spirit, even if it came hand in hand with a dose of loathing toward his ancestors.
Mrs. Pelham let out a sigh. An attractive, delicately built woman, he’d learned from Pelham that she was the widow of the previous duke and, by all accounts, had suffered at his hands. Miss Hart had an excuse for her dislike of him, but the violence of her reaction spoke of something else.
She wanted him—her body had told him that, loud and clear. And she didn’t like it.
And, by the gods, he wanted her.
Delilah…
The name suited her, each syllable rolling off the tongue as he savored his name on her lips.
“Molineux, I must apologize,” Pelham said.
Fraser shook his head. “No matter. I believe I rattled her the other day when I caught her prowling around Clayton House.”
Mrs. Pelham sighed. “She visits there regularly to tend to the birds in the aviary.” She shook her head. “Forgive me, I should have realized…”
“Nevertheless, she had no cause for such incivility,” Pelham interrupted. “She may be your friend, my love, but she’s foul-tempered with it and harbors an unnatural prejudice against the ton. She fancies herself something of a warrior.”
“In what way?” Fraser asked.
“Justice for the put-upon, equal rights for women. Probably sick puppies, as well.”
“Harold, don’t mock my friend,” Mrs. Pelham said. “Her heart is in the right place, and she has good reason for her prejudice.”
“That may be,” Pelham said, “but if her brother knew about today, he’d give her a damned good thrashing.”
“Her brother?” Fraser asked.
“She’s Dexter Hart’s sister,” Pelham said. “Or, I should say, one of his sisters.”
“The banker?”
“The very same.”
Dexter Hart, the proprietor of Hart Bank, was rumored to be the most ruthless businessmen in England. Fraser could well believe it, for how else could a man rise from almost nothing to being one of the wealthiest bankers in London, in less than five years?
But because of his humble origins, Hart was snubbed by half of the ton. According to Pelham, most of the older families refused to bank with Hart, even though he offered competitive lending rates—rates that had tempted Fraser to secure an appointment with the man.
Fraser shook his head. “I imagine even Hart would have trouble controlling that little hellion.”
“She wasn’t brought up within the confines of society,” Mrs. Pelham said, “and therefore doesn’t understand why she must abide by its rules.”
“I wish Hart luck in his endeavors with her,” Pelham said. “It’s the worst kept secret in Whites that he’s trying to marry his siblings off to titles.”
“Perhaps that explains Miss Hart’s dislike of the aristocracy,” Fraser said. “I imagine if she were instructed to do anything, she’d resolve to do the exact opposite.”
“It’s not only that,” Mrs. Pelham said. “My late husband was not a kind man, as I can testify.”
“Anne, my love, there’s no need…” A look passed between Pelham and his wife—care and concern on his part, and reassurance on hers.
“There was an incident when Delilah was younger,” she continued. “When he was a boy, the late duke used to visit the estate on which the Harts were tenants. He was at Harrow with the eldest son. I don’t know the particulars of what happened, for Delilah has not divulged them.”
“Dear God!” Fraser said. “Was she harmed?”
“Not in the way you mean,” she said, “but it resulted in her brother confronting them, which earned him a thrashing, and the family was evicted shortly after.”
Fraser shook his head. “It’s no wonder she hates the ton,” he said, “but it doesn’t explain why Hart wishes to ingratiate himself with them.”
“He doesn’t,” she said. “He wants to conquer them. As to my friend, I only tell you so you can understand her. She may be uncivil toward you, but she has good reason.”
“Anne, my love…” Pelham warned.
“No, it’s all right,” Fraser said. “I appreciate your honesty.
She glanced at Fraser, then back to her husband. “Harold, I think I’ll retire until dinner is served. I’m rather tired, and I’m sure the two of you have business to discuss.”
“Please don’t leave on my account, ma’am,” Fraser said.
She dipped into a curtsey and smiled, then, after giving her husband a brief kiss, slid out of the room. Pelham crossed the floor and picked up a decanter.
“Drink? It’s a rather fine Madeira I imported last year.”
Fraser nodded, and Pelham poured two glasses, then sat, motioning Fraser to do likewise. He raised his glass.
“To a successful business venture!”
Fraser lifted his glass. “I’ll drink to that.”
“So,” Pelham said, his gaze fixed on Fraser. “You met Miss Hart at Clayton House?”
“Not two days ago,” Fraser said. “She’s full of fire. I’ll give her that.”
Pelham laughed. “She’s a hellcat! I’ll never understand why women are so different from each other. She’s the exact opposite of my Anne.”
“I don’t know, Pelham,” Fraser said. “Women may appear to be different disguises, but beneath the surface, they are all drawn from the same keg—driven by the same needs and desires.